(Wednesday, March 22nd, 2023. Rolling its end credits, here lies the ten-minute inconsolable blob that was Mo Smith post La La Land, colorized.)
Being a critic carries the crux of oversharing. You’re too opinionated about food, you turn away potential customers to businesses. If you've seen Ratatouille, Anton Ego is THE prime example. Gusteau’s restaurant lost a MICHELIN star. Being three years old when that film came out, I could still acknowledge how detrimental that was to the culinary realm. Anyways. Or if you give away too much about a film, can you expect your audience to enjoy that film just as much?
Constantly spewing our opinions, humans are trolls, and critics just get to have a semi-professional title for it. Social media thrives off the hatred rather than appreciation of most things. It’s such an accessible and easy source of sharing one’s minute-to-minute hot takes about the most minuscule to monumental, to qualms of bad coffee to your fourth existential crisis this week. I believe, and this is a me thing, that we should be sharing the good, bad, and ugly on the Internet, because older generations love to remind us it’s all a lie. My generations and beyond have taken these false accusations to grotesque extremes which have constituted only further bickering with the ones who inhabited the times of yore. The trolling prolongs, no matter your age or the degree of yearning to share what is being trolled. In this age, we don’t need a professional filter to our names or resumes. In the words of our parents in many infantile conflicts, “because we can,” we are going to say what we want to say.
Now, we should be sharing our breathtaking views of Ireland on Facebook, celebrate anniversaries on SnapChat stories, and Tweet our favorite celebrities for a job well done in your new favorite movie. My cinephilic sources and magnum opus film edits on my social feeds: I thank each of you deeply for my rapidly accelerating knowledge of film and rigorous analysis of why I like the cool thingies I do in movies, BUT! To my oversharing peeps, including myself, over a screen and in person, here comes my point: life! gets! spoiled!
I watched Damien Chazelle’s La La Land in my girl Alex’s dorm this week. A casual but also completely impulsive watch on a Wednesday night. I hardly realized how blasphemous I was towards my ignorance of watching this film, mostly due to the fact that it was SPOILED for me. My penultimate goal of this entry to you guys is sharing no substantial spoilers, meaning I will merely share that I kind of hated John Legend being John Legend, then loved John Legend being John Legend. He’s meant to be a pest of sorts, so my guilt runs shallow, and my grievances stop there, because I loved this movie.
As pictured above I was inconsolable for about ten minutes post-credit-roll of this film. I enjoyed every minute of it, let there be no doubt set in anyone’s head about that, but just about the entire time I was soaking it in, I was livid from holding myself back from it. After I finally emerged from my Cosby sweater snail shell of a sulking place, I posted on my private story to my close friends, aka the ones who know my heart beats cinema, to which I exclaimed “watched la la land for the first time. don’t call or text because i will be dead.” Instead of being concerned about my completely fictitious claim to my film-induced deceasement, as it is a frequent occurrence when yours truly finds her next favorite fad, I had multiple call-outs to my identity saying the likes of “FIRST?” or “AND?” I’ve made it known that this whole blog was the most “long time coming” thing I’ve done, but watching this movie was pretty close to the same title, heightening the blasphemy of this ridiculously awaited viewing.
Those who knew my feelings towards this film, that of blissful ignorance and pompous sentiments of “well I already know what happens” still campaigned how desperate it was that I watch it. I had no mal intent towards La La Land whatsoever, but only appreciation towards Chazelle of his consistent-yet-inconsistent trademarks of golden and yellow hues (there is yellow in nearly every shot of this film, make it a game for you and your friends’ next viewing) and deep-rooted zeal for music and its true power to the hopes and dreams of his characters. His prior film Whiplash (2014) holds its own impact on my life in exposure to films about music. Soon enough, I will release an essay I created for my film appreciation class that will further expound upon my love for music in film, so I implore you reading this, when that entry is given to you, to take my endearing comments pertaining to the musical performances in this film are that of authentic romance. I love music, therefore I loved this film.
My first sentiment totally jeopardizes my theatre kid lenses permanently placed on my eyelids: I didn’t know this was a legitimate musical. Before watching this, I merely served as an agent of sharing good news about it to my friends who adore it, including the fact that it’s currently in the works of becoming a Broadway musical. Shouldn’t that have been a clue to it being more song-and-dancy than what met my eye? And the fact that I knew multiple songs from the soundtrack via Tiktok, and those dots didn't connect? Yes, and this is me saying I’m dumb. Much of this film’s content was spoiled, but this was not, and it only grew my love for it.
Chazelle is no stranger to a pretty-looking movie. The man knows how to manually glue your eyes to your screen. I could only speak from my exposure to Whiplash, but that film’s gritty-yet-golden look and camera-as-a-character convention holds enough of a presence that tops my fav film lists on its own. In addition to being the most vibrant film you'll ever see, the camera speaks, y’all. Not only are the choices of certain shots so beautifully intentional, but more often than not, you are living and moving alongside any character, both inside and out of their psyches, and I just found myself saying “it’s like I’m there, too!”
Also, Chazelle knows his people. Definitely didn’t expect to see JK Simmons playing just how he is in everything he’s in (not derogatory), but let’s be obvious: Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone are perfect. I’ve BEEN a diehard for Mrs. Stone, and even more so for her partnership with Mr. Gosling *cough* *cough* Crazy Stupid Love *cough.* These people are effortlessly funny without being obnoxious, authentic and raw to the teeth, and VERY capable of reaching the peak of their dramatic performances within both of their filmographies.
As “musical about loving jazz and following your dreams” this film is, it’s also painfully simple in its presentation of what a relationship really is. There's the honeymoon phase, the doing-your-own-things phase, and the dissolution that does or doesn’t inevitably occur. I don’t wish to delve in much further to that element, as it truly is the integral battle of this film and should be developed before one’s own eyes for one’s own thoughts and opinions.
With that, I need to talk about jazz. Going through my first year of college, a never-ending study hall for that piece of paper called a degree of sorts, random YouTube jazz playlists became a gradual white noise function into an undying love for the art. I love the film Soul, and I could talk forever and ever about that film’s impact on my life in its message of “jazzing through life” when being alive seemed meaningless to me, but also its sole (pun moment) responsibility of birthing my fixation on the jazz genre.
So, as this newfound jazz fanatic, La La Land birthed a new understanding: the conflict and compromise. Most people, including Emma Stone’s character in the beginning of this story, see jazz as something to talk over, or just a collection of improvisational toots and strums from a group of instruments. There comes a scene when Gosling is explaining the purpose behind this improvisational nature, and this metaphor seeps into the structure of their own love story all the same, as conflict and compromise make up any relationship in life. In jazz, you allow space for yourself as well as the others. You find your groove, and you get into “the zone” (my own little nuance to Soul), but also make way for your fellow artists to enter their zone. A jazz piece holds separate parts within one body, and stories are created through its duration...
and that’s exactly what Gosling and Chazelle did. “Mia and Sebastian’s Theme,” tearjerker being an insulting understatement. I've convinced myself that Justin Hurwitz made that song, Chazelle heard it, had a little moment, and next thing you know, the entirety of La La Land was created around the composition. Sure seems like it to me. The extent of this theory I have comes with the film’s last sequence, an homage to old Hollywood that far outweighed the rest of this film's story. 1952’s Singin’ in the Rain has this fever-dream sequence of Gene Kelly dancing, a completely different story within the film’s originally established plot. Though it doesn’t make “sense” to many first-time viewers, it’s important to me for its power of storytelling in song and dance, no dialogue needed. Then, watching La La Land, known for its incessant hat-tip to the big time old days of Hollywood, do its own fever-dream sequence, built around this one character theme of its soundtrack that is carried through the rest of the film, and I lost it. That’s what sent me into the amorphous blob that you see above. So much of this film had been spoiled, thanks to my oversharing crux of film peeps, as well as a lack of self control when I see any posts of films I haven’t seen. That last sequence hadn't been stolen from my first viewing, praise God, because that’s what finally "did it" for me. I had loved the movie, but now I LOVED the movie.
As I watched it, I felt myself connecting to the people who would die for this film. It’s their number one on any list, their personality, and as I graced through this watch, humming and bobbing my head to the iconic songs of Hurwitz, Pasek, and Paul, I was relating to these disciples. My pretentious, anti-sheep, “not like other girls” cornerstone of my soul was deteriorating, and I loved and hated it so much. Imagine me slowly disappearing into Alex’s sweater, muttering to myself, “now I’m just like the rest of them,” and pity my pathetic film bro conscience. I couldn’t hold back my fascination. This is one of the best films I’ve ever seen. I hope you can get a sliver of that opinion and achieve some credibility for myself as I’m currently on the fourth page of this Google Doc. I think I liked it a bit...and for SO many reasons.
If you’re holding yourself back, don’t, and I mean that for so many reasons too, seriously. Don’t hold yourself back from something you know might be great. You’re only inhibiting yourself from what may be life-changing. Or not. But at least you would know. Living and learning. The most human thing you can do.
I think I’m done, and I think you should watch this movie. Have someone close by for comfort, a loved one or friend or guardian. You’ll need it. I am no longer a blob, but I am changed. Thank you Damien, thank you Ryan and Emma, and thank you to Kate Hickerson, Alex Wallace, Luka Owen, and Théoden Halloran. Y'alls love towards this film was evident as I watched, and each of you hold the reason I am here with a LOT of words to share my own.
Cheers and Love Always,
Mo
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